Utterly Riddikulus
by randommuffintpk
Summary: In which John observes that Sherlock shouts like Voldemort during sex and immediately begins to giggle inappropriately. Sherlock is, predictably, unamused. Rated for language and post-coital silliness. Oh, and bad Harry Potter puns.


_Utterly Riddikulus: or, Sherlock Yells Like Voldemort Whenever He Orgasms_

**So, yeah. I'm working on my other stories but am experience a breathtaking amount of block. I have multiple stories in the works, but this random thing came to me one night and needed to be written down. I hope you appreciate its randomness. Rated T for post-coital stupidity, but no actual sex.  
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**Disclaimer: No own. No money. No sue.**

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><p>"Stop it."<p>

"C-c-c-can't..."

"Stop it right now. This isn't funny."

"_Ehhh-heh-heh_, s-sorry..."

"John Watson, I will punch you in the face if you don't stop giggling right this second."

John exhaled shakily, unable to stop his tears. He looked over at Sherlock's sour expression, the odd chuckle slipping past his lips. Sherlock had just been shagged six ways to Sunday, and he had enough energy left to be irritated? He was a complete mess, what with his neck speckled with hickeys and bite marks and his lips pink and puffy and his dark hair looking like a dishevelled storm cloud about his head. His chameleonic eyes flashed in the semi-darkness with indignant petulance as kiss-plumped lips turned down in a childish pout.

"Sorry, I promise I'll stop," John said, his breathing finally returning to normal.

"Good." Sherlock huffed and turned to lie on his back.

"Good." John was just praying that Sherlock wouldn't ask why he had been laughing. God, explaining that would be embarrassing. He shifted so that he was lying on his back as well and closed his eyes.

…

…

…

"Why were you laughing?"

_Damn it all._ "No reason," John said quickly. Too quickly. He would notice that.

"There has to be a reason. You can tell me, John. Was it something I did? Was I...unsatisfactory in some way?"

"Wha—oh, God no, nothing like that." John quickly turned back to look at Sherlock. "You were good." _Good? You wanker._ "More than good—very good. Incredibly...good."

John could hear his lover rolling his eyes. "Mmhmm. Well, something brought out that disgustingly adorable laugh, and I want to know what it was."

"You sure? It might irritate you."

"You started to giggle immediately following a perfectly pleasant session of sexual congress—of course it's going to irritate me."

"It wasn't the 'congress session' itself that was funny," John murmured, trying his damndest to keep from erupting into giggles once more.

Sherlock quirked a brow. "Are you referring to the anal portion of the activity? Or perhaps the fellatio preceding it?"

_Well, he's certainly never been shy._ John shook his head. "No, love, that was marvellous. It's just…something happened. Near the end." _To be exact, it was really right _at _the end. And what an ending it was._

"Well, what _was_ it?" Sherlock had adopted the snippy tone that he usually reserved for berating crime scene workers (_'It's a wonder that they made it past second form, John.'_ One day Sherlock was going to get a gurney heaved at his head.).

John sighed, rolling so that he was facing Sherlock and smiling down at his consulting detective. "It's just…erm…a few minutes ago, after I'd, you know, you…er…"

"Your lack of articulacy isn't usually this atrocious after sex. What did I do?"

_Don't laugh. Not _too_ much, anyway._ "You shouted pretty…pretty loudly. When you, you know…" John was so English that he couldn't say the word _came_, and instead bobbed his neck and made a small grunting noise.

Sherlock rolled his eyes for what was probably the fifth time today. "It was a rather spectacular orgasm, John. You know that I'm a vocal person, especially whenever you have your cock up my arse." He ignored John's embarrassed splutter. "But what exactly happened during this whole procession that warranted you laughing at me?"

John decided to just say it straight out. "You did a Voldemort yell."

Sherlock's face was void of understanding. "Pardon?" he asked, bewildered.

"You yelled. Like Voldemort. It was…astounding."

"Who on earth is Voldemort? He sounds French. You know I can't abide French."

"He isn't French. He's a dark wizard from the _Harry Potter_ series."

A blank stare.

John sighed. "Never mind, Sherlock. Go to bed."

Sherlock sat up straight. "No. Show me Voldemort. Now."

Cue groan from one John H. Watson. His hand scrabbled for his mobile on the side table. "Fine." He opened YouTube and brought up one of the trailers for _The Deathly Hallows Part 2_, sitting up and scooting closer to his lover so they could both see the screen. "Listen for the yell," said John.

A few seconds in, Sherlock's nose wrinkled. "Who's the snake-face?"

"That's Voldemort." Sherlock paused the trailer and turned slowly to face John, who tried to school his expression into something less than wildly amused. It was a valiant effort, but also a vain one. "I don't think you _look_ like him—just listen for the yell." Sherlock's eyebrows remained glued to his hairline, but he pressed play nevertheless.

Out of context, Voldemort's cry sounded rather silly, and sounded perhaps even more so in context. Sherlock was utterly perplexed. "He does that _three_ _times_," he said, mouth turned down into a frown as the trailer ended. "What sort of sound is that? I imagine that's the sound a pregnant elephant seal would make whilst giving birth to triplets." He then recalled why John had brought up the ridiculous shout in the first place. "You think I sound like _that_ during sex?"

John's face flamed. "Not 'during'. Just the end bit." Sherlock had never looked more mortified in his entire life. Except for, perhaps, that one time when Lestrade had caught the pair of them snogging in a Yard toilet and Sherlock's trousers were well on their way to getting dirty on the floor. "Don't worry, though—your face got all scrunched and adorable when it happened."

Despite these words being intended to comfort the detective, Sherlock now looked positively distraught. "I don't believe I'll ever have sex again." He flopped dramatically onto the pillows.

John laughed quietly and laid back down, turning so that he and his lanky sweetie could spoon. "Stop worrying about it. It's nothing Sirius." Sherlock wondered why John giggled at that, but merely grunted and threw an arm over the smaller man's torso.

"Just go to sleep."

"Okay."

"And stop laughing at me."

"…I'm Neville going to stop."

_End_

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><p><strong>If you have seen <strong>_**Star Trek: Into Darkness**_**, then you know what I mean when I mention that shout. The one where Khan and Spock are fighting on the moving trash transports and Spock forces a meld which makes Khan yell in pain? Come on, when I first heard it I turned the colour of a beetroot and unintentionally made this strangled sort of noise at the back of my throat. I thought, "What the hell? Is Spock, like, having **_**mind sex**_** with Khan?" That brought forth some fascinating mental pictures. Remind me to write something Khan/Spock related if I ever feel like destroying the few shreds of sanity I've somehow miraculously retained.  
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